


Again

by SquigglyAverageJoe



Series: VVV [2]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Handcuffs, M/M, Pet Names, Physical Abuse, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29636001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquigglyAverageJoe/pseuds/SquigglyAverageJoe
Summary: He doesn’t know when they’re evernotfighting.
Relationships: Valentino/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: VVV [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152299
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Again

It was a good thing the door wasn’t locked, because Vox was angry enough to kick it down.

Actually, Vox was angry enough to kick down every last door in Valentino’s place. He was angry enough to burn the place down with his boyfriend inside. He was angry enough to create a Hellwide black out, to blow up four blocks surrounding Val’s penthouse, and he’d probably still have enough anger to spare after that.

But that wasn’t going to do anything. He did not get where he was by losing his temper, losing control, and even if he _did_ kick down any door in his path and murdered his boyfriend and sent all of Hell spiraling into darkness for the next nine decades (which, okay, was a bit of an overkill, but still sounded kind of appealing so everyone could suffer), that wasn’t going to fix why he was so pissed, so he settled for clenching his fists, and making those four blocks (including his boyfriend’s home) darker than night.

Electricity was basically his signature, but so was large quantities of the lack thereof.

The door opened for him easily—it wouldn’t have stopped him anyways, though. In general, they had all kind of had to accept the fact that there was no preventing each other from sneaking into each other’s homes and basically doing whatever the fuck they wanted—it wasn’t a rarity for Vox to find Valentino lounging on his couch with a cigar, or Velvet in his kitchen because one of his caused blackouts effected her ( _literally, every week, Vox, you better be craving cookies right now!)_ and she was looking to drown him baked goods (which, honestly, was a surprisingly healthy way to cope with anger, him and Val could learn a thing or two from her).

Unsurprisingly, Valentino was sitting on his couch, holding a cigar in his hand and scrolling through his phone—but he didn’t even look up at him. “Vox, baby.” Usually, he had his living room lit pretty dim and he’d ditch his glasses, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses right now, but instead of the red-tinted half light Valentino usually liked, he was sitting in pitch black, nothing but the weak brightness of his phone screen illuminating his face. Notably, he had also ditched his hat—his stupid, cute little hat. Fuck, Vox hated this bastard as much as he loved him. “I’m not going to be replacing the lock when you leave, am I?”

His tone came out cold enough to convey he was mad, at least. “It _wx-wz-_ wasn’t locked at all.”

”Good,” he said, like he cared about the fucking lock.

Vox glanced around the room, just to make sure his boyfriend wasn’t being held hostage or anything—sure enough, there was nothing.

He had tried to convince himself Val had had a reason for standing him up—stuck in traffic, maybe, or maybe something had happened and he hadn’t been up for it. Fuck, he would have preferred something keeping Val at work, but coming over here and just finding him on the couch, in the dark, on his phone, just riled him up because there was no excuse he could give him. “This is _whz-whx-_ where you’ve been?” He asked, looked around the room, seriously just wanting to find a good enough reason to hate him. “What about the _rx-rz-_ reservation?”

”Hm?” He looked up at him, finally—and immediately, Vox knew Valentino had no excuse. He did it to piss him off—probably some sort of slight on his part, he had probably done something that had bothered him. “Is _that_ why you wouldn’t stop texting me?”

”Do you have _ax-az-_ any idea how far ahead I had to _cx-_ call to get a reservation at that place?” He asked. Two months. If he wasn’t an Overlord, it would have been four, but he had intimidated them enough to cut it in half. They had been planning it for a while, it had been _his_ idea, and he hadn’t even shown up!

”Guess I forgot.” ...That didn’t sound right, it felt like he was supposed to use some sort of pet name in there. “My bad.”

God. “Are you _fx-fc-_ fucking _kidding_ me, Val?” He turned his attention back to his phone. “ _Whaz-Whaz-_ What did I do _this_ time?”

He racked his mind—there had to be something. He thought things had been pretty good between them recently—at least, when he pissed off Valentino, he’d make it clear he was mad, instead of these weird mind games. “You forget?” He asked.

”I _gx-gz-_ guess!” Valentino made some noncommittal noise. “You had me _wx-wz-_ waiting for _thz-_ _three_ hours, Val!”

He just been sitting there, at a table for two. The waitress had kept coming by, asking if he waiting for someone, if he wanted to order, shifting on her feet as she looked over him, some imp lady with dark hair, dressed in tight black pants and a blazer and the most nervous smile. He had wanted to take his frustration out on her, but it didn’t feel like there was much of a point, and she had maybe been trying to comfort him ( _lots of traffic out there, it’s rush hour around here, I’m sure your fella’s on his way_ ) and then when he had realized that it was a thousand times more likely Valentino had stood him up, she had told him she’d cover the bill, because all he had really done was sip water and pick at some breadsticks while he waited.

It had been _embarrassing._ “You _cx-cz-_ could have at _least_ lied to me,” he said. “Told _mx-mz-_ me you were sick or at the _stx-stz-_ studio or _something_.”

He looked up at him. “Why would I lie to you?” ...He could just _hear_ the lack of a pet name, he had pissed Val off and this was how he got back at him.

”What are you even _dx-dz-_ doing?” He asked. “What was _sz-_ so much _mx-_ more important, you’d _rx-rz-_ rather do it, then go to the date we _plz-plx-_ planned two months in advance?”

In response, Valentino turned his phone screen to him. Vox peered down—he was in the middle of some text conversation with one of his newest employees. He couldn’t keep the sneer off his face. “ _Fx-Fz-_ Fuck me.”

Not even one that had really been earning him that much more money—she was no Angel Dust, she wasn’t even all that good, but she was obedient and liked sex, and that was enough to become one of Val’s favorites. For a small period of time, at least.

Plus, Val had a type, and that type included tall, skinny little twinks like Angel Dust, dressed slutty and girly, and slim women with short hair, dressed in lingerie beneath suits. Valentino had assured him that he fit somewhere in there, and Vox knew that he did—but it didn’t mean much when his boyfriend chose employees he treated worse than Vox over him. It didn’t make any sense.

And he wasn’t choosing them because he really liked them, just because Vox had done something he had perceived as a slight, or else they probably would be getting back just now from an amazing dinner date and Vox wouldn’t be wanting to hit someone (preferably his boyfriend, but... he could never bring himself to hit Val the same way he could him. He always regretted it instantly. He always forced himself to make it up to Val and apparently, when he promised he’d never, ever do it again, he meant it.). 

“Not in the mood, Vox.” Not even _Voxy._ This bitch—

“You _cx-_ could have _at least_ _cx-cz-_ called me,” he said, weakly—he felt guilty for just _thinking_ about hitting Val. Somehow, it felt more right for Val to be hitting him then the other way around. It was wrong, sure, but not as wrong as him hurting his boyfriend. Valentino had forgiven him sooner than he had forgiven himself. “And _sx-sz-_ said you weren’t up for _ix-_ it.”

But then it wouldn’t really be getting even with Vox or whatever Valentino thought it was he was doing—that’d be communicating. Vox could have lived with a rain check! Fuck!

”You should get goin’, Vox,” Valentino said. “Don’t you need to feed your shark?”

...Goddamnit, he did.

Vox knew what this was—Valentino wanted him to choose between Vark and him. Was he gonna stay to try and figure out what he had done to piss Val off, or was he gonna go feed his shark and let him stew in whatever anger he had right now?

”C’mon, _Vx-Vz-_ Val,” he said—he could feed Vark after this. He wouldn’t starve—but he’d just piss Val off if he left now, and then the next time they saw each other, Vox would probably be ordering a new screen. “What’d I _dx-dz-do_?”

Another noncommittal noise. “Val, how am I _gx-gz-_ gonna make it up to _yx-_ you if _yz-_ you don’t tell me what I did _wrz-wrx-_ wrong? Don’t make me _gx-_ guess.”

”You should know,” Val said.

Vox thought on it another moment. “...Are you _ix-iz-_ icing me out over the _jz-_ joke about your _cx-_ couch?” It was barely a question. He knew the answer. “Oh, come _on,_ _Vx-_ Val—it’s an ugly _cz-_ couch.”

”Shut up.”

”But it _is,”_ he insisted. “You’re _gix-giz-_ giving me the cold shoulder over a _dx-dz-_ dumb joke I made over your _ux-_ ugly couch?” It was ridiculously ugly—super comfortable, he liked Val’s couch and all, but it was hideous. “It was _fux-fuz-_ _funny_.”

”You said it looked like someone stitched a shag carpet from the eighties into the center.”

He only said it because it _did._ “Val, you _knx-knz-_ know I love your _tz-_ taste in eighties shit. It’s _jux-juz-_ just an ugly couch.” The colors clashed. In the usual dull red light of Val’s living room, it was a multicolored mess, really. “You _cx-cz-_ cannot be mad at me for _ix-iz-_ insulting your couch.”

He probably wasn’t even all that mad—this was probably just his boyfriend pretending to be mad to knock him down a peg. He was too confident right now, too happy, and why would is boyfriend want to support him and his happiness?

It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d done something like this either.

”Shut up, Vox.”

It was impossible to tell what Val wanted from him—sometimes, he just seemed to _want_ to be mad at him, but he never seemed to really want to break up. It was difficult to tell. “Val, I’m—“

This time he _did_ see it coming and caught Val’s wrist when he went to hit his screen. Val glared, but didn’t try to strike him again and Vox didn’t let go.

If he had a mouth that could function for it, he’d kiss Val’s hand or something, but instead he trailed his fingers from his wrist to his elbow. “Come on, _Vx-Vz-_ Val—let me make it _ux-_ up to you.” Valentino might have relaxed. It was hard to tell—his screen had a light blue glow that illuminated him enough to get a decent look at his face, but it wasn’t so much of a reaction as it was a flicker of _some_ emotion in his eyes. “Let me _wx-_ wine and _dz-_ dine you, and apologize _ux-uz-_ until you can’t _stz-stz-_ stand hearing my voice _ax-_ anymore?”

Val completely relaxed and leaned back into his ~~ugly ass~~ couch. “Maybe,” he said.

Maybe he could have done that tonight, too, Vox thought miserably. He would have loved nothing more than to take Val out for dinner, and have a good conversation and get drunk off of good wine with him and then probably fuck in his limo before either one of them stayed at the other’s place and they could pretend to have a good, strong, healthy relationship and it’d be like they had never fought over something stupid, and they could be happy, but _no._ Val had to ruin that.

”C’mon, Val.” He sat down on the ~~still incredibly ugly~~ couch next to him, still holding his wrist. “I’m _sz-_ sorry.”

Val smiled—he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his boyfriend wear a smile that genuine, his heart skipped a beat like it wanted to remind him just who it belonged to, no matter how pissed he got. “Come closer, Voxy, baby.”

God. He never thought he’d want to hear Val’s stupid fucking pet name for him, but he just felt relieved—this wasn’t going to be another fight. If he could avoid pissing Val off anymore tonight...

He leaned over towards Valentino—he slid an arm around his waist, trailed a hand down his waist while a third arm stroked the edge of his screen. And that fourth still held onto his phone, showing either one of the same of his whores, or maybe someone totally different, it didn’t matter. Vox reached over and pulled his phone out of his hand, pressing it screen down on the couch. Val chuckled, “One of _those_ nights, Voxy?”

Least doing that hadn’t gotten him angry. He was a bit too close to Valentino to pull away, and it wasn’t like it’d be difficult to hurt him. That hand on his screen could hold him still enough to hit him if he tried, but instead of hitting him, Val moved his final hand onto one of his legs. “Good thing you’re so hot, baby,” he said, thumb stroking little circles into his pant clad thigh, squeezing gently every once in awhile. “Makes it that much easier to forgive you.”

Vox sighed and leaned closer, further into Val’s almost loving hands. “Really,” Val said. “You’re gorgeous, baby.”

He was glad Val thought so. Honestly, the fact that he was now some weird looking technology demon was probably the worst punishment Hell could think of. It was cruel irony at best.

It had taken him _years_ in life to make his body worth living in. He had gotten lucky, born in the twenties in some rural town—the doctor had been there when he was born, drunk off his tits, but he had been there—and his birth certificate had accidentally said he was male.

He hadn’t been male, but goddamnit, he had been _lucky_ —he ha been flat enough to dress masculine enough to make him look like a man, and once he moved to the city, no one had known his name wasn’t his real name. He had been a guy—and that was all anyone had ever known him to be, and he had _easily_ been able to cut ties with any family that could disagree.

And then he had died and he had woken up in Hell _this._ His face was flat! His legs were long, thin little things, and what the fuck was with his hands? He had had so many questions—in some ways, sure, it was an improvement, but it felt like he was fighting to be comfortable in his own skin again.

Valentino knew. As did Velvet. It wasn’t even necessarily that Vox felt ashamed of it or anything, just that it was a complicated thing and he was a somewhat private person (okay. Not really, but he had his things he wanted on the down low, and being born female, ridiculously smart, and at a point in time where he did eventually get to try McDonalds before his death were all three completely different things that needed three completely different levels of privacy.

But there wasn’t anything Valentino didn’t know about him—and Valentino knew exactly what to say to tear him down and build him back up again, to make him fall in and out of love as he pleased. “ _Goddx-dz_ -damnit, Val.” That hand on his thigh moved up, the hand stroking his chest moved over to brush against one of his nipples through his clothes.

He chuckled. “Damn, baby...You know how pretty you look like this?” Those hands forced him closer, right on Valentino’s lap—he was past the point of rejecting him or struggling. Val wanted this, so he should too, he thought. He didn’t think he was _against_ it, he had thought this would happen at some point, he just thought it would happen after dinner, but _dinner never happened—_

He pressed a kiss to his screen, hands parting his thighs so he was straddling one of Val’s legs, hands fisting his jacket. “You wanna know what’d really make it up to me, darlin’?” He asked. Because he wanted to make it up to him, even still. Even wishing he could hate him, wishing he had the strength to just leave his boyfriend to simmer, even if it resulted in a breakup. “If you let me tie you down to this couch you hate so much... Keep me entertained a couple hours, spread those legs for me.” A hand stroked down to his knee, Vox _moaned_. “You’d look so good in handcuffs, you know that?”

...He didn’t like bondage. He got the _aesthetic_ of it, and maybe some people liked to be restrained and have some kinky fun, but the last thing he liked Val doing to him was restraining him. He couldn’t duck from punches. He couldn’t protect his screen. He couldn’t grab Val’s wrists. Honestly, he would not put it past Val to pretend he was suddenly in a good mood, tie him down and then fuck up his screen and leave him on the floor for a couple of hours, if he thought it’d teach him a lesson.

Vox sighed—because he already knew he was agreeing to it anyway. He usually wasn’t able to say no to Valentino—and even if he could, they were never meaningful no’s, he always let him persist. “Okay,” he said.

Two minutes. It took two minutes for Valentino to have him stripped down and to have handcuffed his wrists together, held over his head with one hand, with the other three roaming his body.

Most of these days, it never felt like Val was completely _there_ when they were together. Val held his hand sometimes, but Vox always made the first move. Kisses were short, and weirdly chaste from Val. The sex was good, but always better when Val actually tried to acknowledge him. Sometimes he got excuses— _Just thinkin’ about work, Voxy,_ or _Just out of it tonight, keep doing what you’re doing,_ or _I’m not in the mood is all_ —and excuses were enough for Vox to shove them out of his mind, but more recently, it had just became how things _were._

Things were rough between them. They had been progressively getting worse for a while. Fights were frequent, Val was quick to violence more often, and he found himself questioning why they were even dating sometimes.

But occasionally—like, once a month—he remembered why. Sometimes Valentino really could be the _sweetest_ boyfriend. Sometimes, he held Vox like he was the most important thing in the world to him and he could believe it.

And on top of that, even if Valentino was distracted—the sex was usually pretty bomb.

“So perfect,” Val breathed, standing right over him, pressing kisses on his neck. He tilted his head the best he could to give him more to work with. If he could, he’d try to kiss Val back—damn his flat mouth.

”You’re beautiful.” Vox moaned—those _hands_. “So good for me too—spread those legs a bit farther for me, babe. You just look too good like this.” He tried not to stiffen at _babe,_ tried to tell himself it was just and Val. Not even Velvet to bother them.

Just the two of them.

He wasn’t sure if it was the good thing he wanted it to be—it’d be so nice, to enjoy being alone with his boyfriend. To not have to worry so much about pissing Val off.

But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter.

The best part about having sex with Valentino was the way he held him when they were both done—not because Vox was even that big on aftercare or cuddling, he’d never been one for spooning, but it was always quiet. He never felt like he had to say anything—no use in checking in with Valentino liked the silence as much as him, never had to apologize, and Val always _knew_ he enjoyed himself.

So they just sat in silence.

Val had removed the handcuffs, stroked the side of his screen repeatedly, up and down, over and over. He let himself sink into the touch—this could be the last time Val touched him this gently in awhile, you never knew. His boyfriend kept him on his toes.

...The really terrible part was that it wasn’t just probably the last time in awhile, because they were always fighting nowadays—for all Vox knew, this was the last time ever. Maybe they’d get into a fight later—and it wouldn’t end, and they’d fight for the rest of their afterlives and never make up. Maybe they’d both fall out of love. Maybe this was it.

Or maybe they would fight. And then make up. And then fight again. And then make up again. And then fight again.

Again. And again.

_And again._

”Voxy,” he murmured—Vox realized he’d gone just about the entire time without using his name, and hearing it now made warmth bloom somewhere in his ribs. “You’re thinkin’ again.”

” _Nx-Nz_ -Nothing, Val.”

”Last time you were this deep in thought,” he shifted, pulled him closer. “You insulted my couch when you snapped out of it.”

Okay, but it _was_ an ugly couch. And it had just been a joke. “ _Jux-Juz_ -Just thinking,” he said.

A nudge. ”About...?”

How the way the light that shone in from the windows glinted off his glasses and made his heart skip a beat. How warm his hands felt on his hips and his shoulders and when he caressed his face or his thighs. How his breath ghosted over his neck when he was on his lap. About how his lips hitched up into a half-smile, half-snarl when he was mad enough to hit him. How when he hit him hard enough to make him fall to the floor and make his breath catch in his throat in a _not so good way,_ he loomed over him menacingly, and his laughter rumbled in his ears, sickeningly sweet and achingly warm, like it could almost chase away the cold from the floor. About how good it’d be to never have to worry about any of that, and about how, even if he did manage to leave Valentino, he knew he would worry about it all, for the rest of his afterlife. That was how Val worked—you just... never got rid of him. He was some sort of rodent, had dug his stupid claws into him and wasn’t going to let go. Ever. “About _yx-yz-_ you,” he said. “Always about you.”

This was a good answer. “Always?” Val asked, fingers sliding over his screen gently.

” _Ax-_ Always.”

All too quickly, Valentino stood up, letting go of him completely. “Good answer, baby,” just confirming what he already knew. He rose to his full height, looked over his hellphone and then threw it back on the couch before yawning. Vox didn’t know where his cigar had gone. Also, he had no idea where his tie was. Also, his thighs hurt like _fuck._ “I’m going to bed,” he said. “It’s late—are you gonna stay and keep me company?”

God. He shouldn’t. He wasn’t up for a round two. He still had to feed Vark. He was still low key pissed, just trying to swallow his anger.

Val looked him over, through his glasses—would leaving now piss him off? Things were peaceful right now, did he _really_ want to rock the boat?

No. No, he didn’t. “Least your bed isn’t as ugly as your couch,” he muttered—even though he was trying _not_ to piss his boyfriend off.

Val smacked his arm, but it was much more friendly, more of a joke—it didn’t hurt. “Well, if my bed has _you_ warming it, it can’t be ugly, can it, Voxy?” He intertwined his fingers and tugged him up, down the hall, moving to his bedroom.

” _Yx-Yz_ -You’re gonna _mx-_ make me blush, Val.”

He shoved him in, closed the door behind him. “Get on the bed for me?”

He couldn’t say no, not when he was being polite. Val wasn’t always this polite. He couldn’t ruin it. This was a luxury. He couldn’t ruin it (even if it seriously wasn’t _his_ fault his boyfriend was a jackass). “ _Ax-Az-_ Alright.”

Awkwardly, he sat on the edge of Val’s bed, legs hanging off while Val looked him over, took a step forward. “You know that’s not what I wanted.”

He placed a hand on his shoulder, pushed him down, flat against the mattress and loomed over him. “You were being so good for me earlier,” he murmured. “Don’t ruin it now by actin’ like a brat.”

...Vark still needed dinner.

He nodded. Valentino pressed a kiss against his screen—and then another, and another, a pair of hands holding him steady, holding him down, like Vox might somehow push him away. Maybe he should—he really _doesn’t_ want a round two, but he doesn’t feel strongly enough to make it worth a fight. “Voxy,” he breathed.

He slid his palm down Val’s back, careful with his claws. _“Sx-Sz-Say_ my name again?”

Val chuckled, pulling him closer. “Alright, beautiful—if that’s what you want from me.” He pressed another kiss to his screen, another, again and again. A pair of arms circled his waist, pulling him close, closer than he’d felt to Val in a while. “Voxy...”

He sighed, sank into his arms. “Voxy.”

He pulled him into his lap, other two arms holding the back of his screen to layer his face in kisses. He couldn’t pull away—even if he tried.

At the very least, he didn’t want to—not when it’d cause a fight. He leaned into Valentino’s touch.

...Did fights matter when he knew they’d just make up again? Just to fight again, and to make up...

They were trapped in a cycle, the two of them—just an endless, long, grueling cycle for the rest of their afterlives, or until one of them woke up from the nightmare their relationship had become and put an end to it.

_“Damn,_ Voxy.” He tilted his head with his hands, to brush his lips over his neck. “Always forget how much I like you until we do this...” _Do this._ Did he mean make out? Fuck?

...Fight?

It was mutual then—Vox could be pissed as hell at him, could want to hit him, want to block him, want to go the rest of his afterlife without hearing his fucking voice, but it meant nothing, because every time they got too close for comfort to breaking up, they made up.

Val’s hand found his thigh. Vox intertwined his fingers with _one_ of Val’s hands.

There was no end in sight—and a stupid, senseless part of him hoped it’d stay that way for awhile


End file.
